Middle Watch
by CaptainPolaris
Summary: Post ST:TMP. Spock visits Kirk's quarters, curious about the emotions he's so newly embraced after his encounter with V'Ger.


James T. Kirk sat at the desk in his quarters, surrounded by stacks of old books and documents from previous missions, catching up on a bit of reading that he simply hadn't had time for until now. In between learning the new ship, the whole business with V'Ger, losing both Ilia and Will Decker, and Spock's sudden and dramatic reappearance, he felt he only just had the opportunity to catch his breath. Here, in the quiet of his own cabin, for a few hours at least, he could temporarily forget the duties and chaos that awaited him just beyond the sleekly paneled walls.

He heard the door open behind him and the sound of boots crossing the threshold. He glanced over to check the hour; Dr. McCoy was late this evening.

"What's it tonight, Bones?" he asked, not bothering to look up from the page. He suspected the good doctor had come with one of his more palatable remedies. "Finagle's Folly?"

His query met with silence, he turned to see Spock standing just inside the doorway. Kirk immediately closed the book he'd been thumbing through and stood up.

"Spock!"

"I hope I am not disturbing you," Spock answered, taking a few steps farther into the room. Despite the Starfleet uniform he still looked somewhat out of place, as if he were merely visiting the _Enterprise_ on some diplomatic mission, and would depart once mutual gains had been negotiated. The Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back and stood quietly as the pneumatic door closed after him, plunging the room into a heady silence.

Kirk didn't mean to stare but found he couldn't tear his eyes away; he still couldn't believe Spock was truly back aboard the ship, again at his side. Spock had refused an offer to return to Vulcan, where he might continue the Kolinahr discipline. He didn't completely understand, but acknowledged the importance it held for Spock; for what other reason would he leave Starfleet behind, wish to exorcise his human half and the emotions it engendered?

_Spock._

It hurt him to think of Spock suffering in any capacity. A small part of Kirk believed with disquieting certainty he himself had been a source of that pain.

A moment passed between them, one of comfortable newness, of old friends who suddenly find themselves once again in each other's lives after an extended separation. Kirk felt warm affection bubble up inside him, brightening his face with a smile; he gestured toward the berth.

"Please, sit down."

Spock acquiesced and crossed the room to sit on the bed's edge, his hands folded in his lap. Kirk returned to his seat but turned the chair so that his full attention was trained on his guest. A shimmery chime filled the room as an antique timepiece nestled among the books struck the half hour.

"It's late, Spock. We humans typically sleep at this time."

Spock's eyes cut through the room's low light like two bright stars.

"I know you to keep late hours." His eyes flicked to the myriad bound volumes crowding the shelves beside the bed. The titles were varied; Spock suspected they were borrowed from other crew members. "I see you still enjoy reading in your spare time. You are what some would consider a 'creature of habit'."

"You know me quite well, Spock," Kirk chuckled. "I'd say even more than I do myself."

Spock's face softened. In the quiet light he appeared more and more the remarkable individual Kirk had come to know so well and less the stranger who'd boarded the ship in their time of need. _I've missed this_, Kirk thought.

"I confess to having heard your thoughts during my time on Vulcan," Spock said suddenly. Kirk shifted in his seat, surprised by this revelation. Vulcan was light-years away from Earth, too far a distance for any conventional mind-link to span.

"How is that possible?"

Spock's brow arched in the way it did when met with a peculiar conundrum. He shook his head, obviously perplexed.

"Unknown. However, I distinctly felt your thoughts during the culmination of the ritual."

Kirk looked at him openly, searching. A million questions tumbled in his mind. One formed into coherent thought.

"Only then?"

Spock returned his gaze with such intensity that Kirk broke contact, shifting the conversation.

"And your task on Vulcan? The Masters—"

"My task," Spock stated quietly, "is complete. I have found my answers."

Kirk settled back into his seat with a sense of relief. The past few years without him were challenging and he had no desire to live through more of the same. He needed Spock by his side, needed him in his life. Spock watched closely as Kirk examined his hands, shaking his head.

"After the mission, when you left, I—" He sighed heavily. "Somehow I ended up behind a desk..."

Kirk rested a hand on the table beside him, feeling the smooth material under his fingertips. Accepting the promotion had been a mistake, he knew now. _He was never meant to give up command. Hadn't Bones tried to warn him?_ His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the stark modernity of his surroundings. Without Decker he'd leaned on Scott to help familiarize himself with the ship's new designs and functions. Beneath the shiny new refurbishment was the same old _Enterprise_, pulsing with her powerful, understated grace. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He looked again at Spock. _Never meant to give this up_.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back, Spock."

The Vulcan felt a familiar dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He knew it to be the unnamed, persistent longing that tainted every interaction with the humans he'd moved among while aboard the _Enterprise_. After many years he finally understood what it was that had pained him for so long, pain enough to turn his back on the only place he'd truly considered home. That understanding had led to wanting, needing.

_Having was not so pleasing a thing after all as wanting. It was not logical, but was often true._

Spock stood suddenly, and Kirk had the fleeting impression he meant to approach him, but Spock had instead turned toward the door, his hands once again clasped behind his back. He took a few slow steps to leave but stopped, his eyes to the floor.

_Often, but not always._

"I had hoped, in light of recent developments..."

That well remembered voice was cautious, careful. Kirk watched as the Vulcan faced him. Their eyes met and Kirk felt the pull of raw emotion wash over him as it radiated across the room. He raised his arms and held them out in invitation, beckoning Spock over.

"Come here," he said softly.

Spock slowly approached him, his eyes locked onto Kirk's. He stopped as he reached the chair; he scarcely seemed to be breathing. Kirk looked up at him for a moment, taking in every detail of the face he'd memorized long ago. He stood, rising to his full height, gazing into the melancholic eyes before him.

Spock was so thin—time on Vulcan had whittled the flesh from his cheeks. Kirk reached out and rested his hands on Spock's shoulders. He could feel the toll the Kolinahr had taken through the tunic fabric. His shoulders, angular before, were sharper. Where Kirk has gained a few pounds from life behind a desk, Spock had lost them.

_Oh._

Kirk slipped his arms around the lean waist and settled them into the small of his back, pulling Spock close. The distance between them disappeared as they pressed comfortably together. For a moment Spock seemed frozen with indecision, but allowed himself to relax into the embrace, resting his arms across Kirk's back.

"Jim."

That name. Speaking that name after years of restraint was a homecoming. Spock let its weight rest on his tongue, savoring the taste.

"Jim," he said again, with reverence befitting a prayer.

Kirk hugged him tighter, burying his face into the fabric at the Vulcan's neck. He imagined he could smell the spiced Vulcan breeze lingering on Spock's skin.

"I missed you," he murmured, not trusting his voice to speak any louder.

Spock's fingers tensed, pressing into the warm flesh beneath their splayed length. _It knows that it needs, but not what_. He inclined his head, resting his chin against Kirk's temple, listening to the steady thrum of the human heart he'd so nearly broken with his pilgrimage to Gol.

_T'hy'la!_ he thought. _Jim!_

After years of needing, he had finally accepted what it was he sought. Of all the strange and wonderful worlds discovered during their historic mission, none could compare to the one he found himself inhabiting in that small ship's cabin, lost amid the vast expanse of space.

He was exactly where he belonged. He was home.


End file.
